Where Darkness Dwells Under the Sun
by Emiliya Wolfe
Summary: Molly's a Squib and doesn't care about it one bit. That is, until one day she meets a mysterious cat in King's Cross station, who leads her to a mysterious house and an even more mysterious man. Dark themes implied. For the Dark Lady Lizzy - long may she reign.


**For Lizzy - Merry Christmas!**

* * *

'Come along girls, we're going to be late!'

Lucy glanced back at her sister, her dark brows furrowing. Their parents were far ahead of them, but that was fine; they knew the way to platform 9 ¾. They had been to see their cousins off before. Lucy was more worried about her elder sister than getting a good seat on the train.

Molly had put up a good front that morning – she always did, but Lucy knew that it hadn't been easy for her when they had waited for the owl to arrive four years ago to the day.

It never did.

Their parents had spoken comforting words, telling Molly that she was born on the first of September, that the school year had technically started before she turned eleven, but Molly had simply sat there, a small, pitying smile on her face as she told their father that it would be all right, in her voice that had always been too mature for her age.

Sure enough, the letter hadn't come the next year either.

And now, Lucy was off to Hogwarts with the rest of their family, leaving Molly behind. Lucy knew her sister was different, but she knew that that difference made Molly feel isolated.

'Go ahead,' Molly said, answering Lucy's unspoken question. Her hazel eyes focused as they settled on her younger sister. 'I'll be there in a minute.'

Lucy nodded once. She wasn't going to push it. If Molly needed a little time to compartmentalise, well, Lucy wasn't going to begrudge her this one thing. She knew her sister would be on the platform in time to see her off.

* * *

When Lucy had safely run ahead to catch her train, Molly was able to turn her attention back to what had made her dawdle in the first place. A tortoiseshell cat was staring at her, almost as if it could read her thoughts, holding her gaze in a way no ordinary animal would.

Then again, Molly didn't know how an ordinary cat behaved. Her father was allergic, so they had never had one in their home. Only owls.

Suddenly, Molly became aware that her feet were moving without quite knowing why. She took one step after another, her legs working automatically even though she was supposed to be going in the opposite direction. She tried to remember why, but her mind was hazy. All she could see were those amber eyes, burning into her own. The cat purred, brushing its tail against her legs and rubbing its cheek against her shin, before stalking out of the station.

Molly followed.

* * *

When Molly came to her senses, she was standing in the middle of what seemed to be the courtyard of a large country house. For one wild moment, she wondered if she was at Hogwarts. There was a stable, several barns, and the main house itself. Then she turned around and saw the metal gates, spikes rearing up as far as the eye could see, and metal fencing criss-crossed with barbed wires.

That was the moment the panic set in.

Immediately, Molly crouched down to the floor, placing a hand on each side of her head as she slowly breathed in and out of her mouth. She wasn't about to let this overwhelm her.

When she had realised that she was a Squib for the first time, she knew that she would have to be the strong one. Her father would have been lost, and her mother too pitying. Molly had needed to brush it off, to act as though it was no great loss. When she had arrived at secondary school at the age of eleven without knowing how to complete a single sum, without knowing basic Muggle history, she had held her head up high and accepted the criticism of her teachers and peers, blinking back tears that they didn't deserve.

When she had been cursed at King's Cross station last year by a boy that didn't know better and had been told by his parents that she was worse than the Muggle scum that had no right to walk the Earth, simply because she had no magic, she had picked herself up, paid for a strong cup of tea, and pretended to her family that she had just been out buying croissants in celebration of Teddy's graduation.

And she wasn't going to break down here, of all places.

 _Where was here?_

She raised her head and straightened up. It didn't seem like a bad place, other than the gates. The buildings were old, but well kept. There wasn't a soul in sight, but there was a herb garden to her right, so there must be some sort of gardener at least. The strangest thing was the fact that she noticed a couple of cats wandering to and fro next to the gates, almost as if… as if they were guarding them.

Molly shook her head to clear it of such nonsense, her curly auburn locks loosening a little from their ponytail.

'Hello dear.'

A soft hand touched her shoulder and she spun, adrenaline rising like nausea to her throat. Standing before her was a man with a kindly smile and plain features that Molly seemed to forget as soon as she noticed them.

'You look a little lost.'

'I… I'm not sure where this is supposed to be,' Molly stammered, despite her brain sending warning signals. _Don't ever tell a stranger you're lost_ , her father's voice resonated in her head.

'That's all right, dear,' the man replied, and Molly had to repress a twinge of disgust at being called "dear" by someone she just met. 'Everyone's a bit confused when they get here. It's because of the magical shield. You see, this is a place for Squibs to come and learn about how they can be a part of the magical world. Isn't that something you've always wanted?'

'I…'

 _No!_ was what Molly wanted to say. She was happy living life as a Muggle. She liked the challenge of maths equations, pushing her to find a solution. She enjoyed learning about how the world worked, and then coming home to discuss how magic and science fused together with her father. But the more she thought about it, the more the memories came back.

Her cousins not wanting to talk about Quidditch in front of her, for fear that she would be upset. Her sister, treating her like a porcelain doll ever since she got her acceptance letter. George's pitying looks when he gave her his merchandise for Christmas. The room going quiet when she walked into the lounge at the Burrow.

'There there, dear,' the man soothed, as Molly realised she had tears in her eyes. 'That's what we're here for.'

He put a hand to her back as if to guide her to the house, and Molly shuddered again, speeding up her pace so she wouldn't feel that soft, cold touch. As they entered, the door blew suddenly shut, the silence ominous.

'Actually, I'm not sure I–' Molly started, backing away. Something wasn't right here.

'You're allowed to be nervous.' Another flash of those pearly whites that were slightly greying. 'Everyone is, when they first arrive. Oh, hello Minx! Did we forget to feed you?'

A black and white cat with long whiskers was meowing pointedly on the table in the hallway. As soon as it saw the two humans, it jumped down, trotting away down a corridor to the left.

'I hope you don't mind cats,' the man said. 'We have a few of them here. Our Lady… She can never say no to a stray.'

'That's quite all right,' Molly said, transfixed by the white patch Minx had around one eye. Almost without thinking, she bent down to pick her up, the cat purring as she rubbed her cheek against Molly's hand.

'I'll leave you to get settled, then.'

By the time Molly looked up to ask what the man had meant, the hallway was empty. Minx meowed again, brushing against the corridor entrance.

'Well then,' Molly said, putting a hand on her hip. 'I suppose it's up to me to feed you, is it?'

Another meow, followed by a trilling purr when Molly followed her down the corridor.

'Let's see if I can find my way around here then.'

* * *

Molly was sitting in the room she had been given at the manor, watching the snow fall through the window, when she noticed something odd moving across the grounds. Wiping the condensation off the pane, she squinted for a better look.

It was almost as if… a man was slipping through a gap in the barbed wire. But that couldn't be. No one left the centre through the gates. It just wasn't done. Everyone knew that. If you were clever enough, if you were strong enough, if you were handsome enough, then you were taken to see the Lady. Only she could attest to whether you were acceptable for the wizarding world. Only the best went through.

Molly had nearly cried when a little boy was taken to see the Lady last week. He was only six, but he had skin as smooth as a baby, eyes as blue as a summer's sky, and the Lady had said that he would be adopted by a rich Muggle family. If he played his cards right, he would have enough influence in the Muggle world to be an asset to the wizarding community.

It was rare for them to come so young though. That was one thing Molly had learnt early on. Most were teenagers or older, and the young ones were exclusively brought in by the ancient pureblood families. Molly sometimes liked to watch them open the great iron gates in anticipation of the Ministry car, though more often they arrived by Floo.

Something niggled at the back of her mind. It was almost as if she had left her homework in her room again, a reminder of a reminder, something long forgotten.

Minx jumped up onto her lap, nudging her hand – a demand to be stroked.

Molly laughed, complying with ease. Minx always knew when she was feeling down.

'It'll pass, dear,' she comforted the cat, kissing the top of her furry forehead. As Molly raised her head, the trail of footprints had her frowning again.

Minx meowed again.

'I'm just going for a walk,' Molly reassured her. 'Don't worry, I won't be long. You stay here, warm yourself up by the fireplace in the hall. I know how much you hate the cold.'

She quickly knotted her curls into a plait – it fell down to her waist now – and stuck on a knitted hat and scarf, before making her way down the hall. One thing that was nice about living on the ground floor was that she could go out for walks whenever she felt like it. Often Minx came with her and she pretended that she was a witch, with a familiar at her heels, before she came back to the centre and realised that she needed to work hard if she ever wanted to be worthy of her family.

Slipping around to the back door, she closed it quietly. The instructors were always cautious about her going out alone, worried that she was getting too morose. As soon as the fresh winter air hit her, she breathed in deeply, automatically relaxing as she let it clear her mind. The snow was deeper than she had expected, the footprints nowhere to be found. Her shoes scuffed the ground as they sank, water trickling through the holes in her laces. Her feet would soon be soaking, but for now, she didn't mind.

Feeling adventurous, she wandered around to where she thought she had seen the figure. It was right between the thicket and the fence, and she wouldn't even have spotted the gap if she hadn't known what to look for. Still, she could see where the bars were bent, leaving them just a little further spaced apart than usual, where the barbed wire was lacking.

She had to take her coat off to squeeze through, and even then, she nearly ripped a button off her cardigan passing through. _The man must have been very thin to be able to get through,_ she remarked to herself, looking around for where he could have gone.

It felt strange, almost wrong, to be walking out of the the centre, but her curiosity piqued and she pressed forwards into the woods, ducking under tree branches and stepping around patches of brambles until she came to a small clearing with a pond. There he was, squatting over a cauldron of some sort. As he flicked his dark hair out of his face, she caught sight of his face. His cheekbones were pronounced, and yet his cheeks were hollow, as if he hadn't had enough to eat. As Molly watched, he muttered under his breath, and bright blue flames appeared under the pot, though they didn't burn the moss and twigs beneath.

 _He's a wizard!_ Molly realised, backing away hurriedly. She didn't want to disturb him - who knew what wizards could do when they were provoked.

'You can come out,' he called, his voice tinged with amusement. 'I won't eat you.'

Molly was slightly affronted at that.

'I didn't think you would eat me,' she retorted, stepping forwards out of the underbrush. 'Just because I'm a Squib doesn't mean I'm stupid.'

'Really?' His lips quirked up, his brown eyes lighting up with a cruel humour. 'Then why do you feel the need to specify the fact that you are, indeed, a Squib?'

Molly narrowed her eyes, ready to come up with a witty retort, but the words died on her lips. Why _had_ she specified that she was a Squib? She frowned, puzzled. He hadn't even mentioned it. She had.

'You're all the same, with your inferiority complexes,' he continued, giving whatever was in his pot a stir or two, before peering back at her. His smirk grew lopsided. 'It all gets very boring, you know.'

'Well _excuse me_ ,' Molly replied hotly. 'Someone's a bit full of himself. I'll have you know that I'm perfectly happy with myself.'

'Are you?' he countered, and his eyes were probing, the spark of humour gone. 'I suppose that's how you managed to get out.'

'Out?' Molly echoed before she could stop herself.

'Out of the factory,' the man nodded back towards the way she came. 'How did you find out?'

'The factory?' Molly took a step closer, as if she had misheard him. Maybe she had.

'You know,' the man said, shrugging and stirring his pot the other way around once, before taking out his wand and tapping it. Curious, Molly stepped forwards to see the liquid take on a purple hue. 'The fact that you're being used as spare parts.'

All of her interest in the liquid vanished as Molly stumbled back, bile rising to her throat. A series of images flitted across her mind, each more horrid than the last. She tripped, and would have landed in what looked to be a very painful patch of thicket, had she not suddenly stopped mid-fall and floated over to sit next to the man.

Up close, she realised that it was impossible to tell his age. He could have been in his early twenties, with the mischievous look he was sporting earlier, but now his face was quite still, his eyes too wise for his apparent years.

'You didn't know,' he said softly, stowing his wand away.

'Please don't tell me that means what I think it does,' Molly replied, her voice thick with apprehension.

'Parchment has to come from somewhere,' the man joked, but there was no humour in his flat tone.

Now Molly really felt sick. _Deep breaths_ , she told herself, trying to treat the information as another dry history fact.

'It started when the Muggles were trying to burn us at stake. We couldn't risk them noticing the disappearing animals, and parchment was precious back then.'

Molly narrowed her eyes suspiciously. _Did he just read my mind?_ The man gave an exaggerated sigh, bottling his potion in one swift movement.

'Legilimency is an art, not something so excruciatingly simple as reading a book,' he complained monotonously, as though repeating an often-said phrase.

'Get out of my head if you don't like what you find, then,' Molly snapped, before realising that the man had effectively taken her mind off his revelation. She glanced at him sideways, but he appeared to be concentrating on stoppering his vial correctly. A thought occurred to her. 'You said "burn _us_ at stake". You speak as if you were there.'

'I was,' he replied off-handedly.

'Then…'

'Some things cannot be distilled into a short conversation,' he cut her off with a wave of his hand. 'And we have tarried in the cold for far too long. Shall we be off, then?'

Molly blinked, disconcerted at the sudden change in the man's mannerisms.

'Off where?' she asked warily, uncomfortably aware that she was at the wizard's mercy.

Reaching behind her, she found a large stone that could be useful if worse came to worst. If what he was saying was true, then it was possible that he could be in league with the Lady of the factory.

'Home, of course.' Her companion looked surprised that she would even ask.

Suddenly, memories of Molly's family came rushing back, as if they had been held behind a glass pane – still there, but foggy and unclear. She last remembered seeing her sister off at the station, but it was winter now. She hadn't seen them in months. _Mum and Dad must be going mad with worry_ , she thought. _Or think I've run off, because I can't handle the thought that my little sister's a witch and I'm not._

'I don't even know your name,' she found herself saying, and then winced. Knowing someone's name didn't make them more trustworthy, but she had just realised that she knew the names of no one at the factory apart from Minx the cat.

'I was wondering whether you'd ask,' the man said, his face splitting into a grin that made him look like a teenager. 'It's Salazar.' His smile grew dangerously wider. 'Salazar Slytherin.'

 _The Hogwarts Founder_ , Molly thought in amazement. _Dad would be so jealous_.

'I knew I liked you.' Salazar winked.

Molly scowled. _Get out of my head_ , she thundered as loudly as she could, and was rewarded with Salazar dropping his grin.

'Well, are we going then?' he asked. 'I won't ask a third time. I don't usually ask a first time.'

Molly thought of her family, of Christmas in the Burrow and the way they'd welcome her back into their arms. Her mind was becoming clearer, reminding her of the rigorous mental and physical exercises the… the factory… had put her through: every insult, every degrading comment, and most especially, the way Molly had interiorised it all.

If she went back, things wouldn't go back to the way they were. Somewhere in the factory she had lost herself, lost what had made her _Molly_ , and she wouldn't be able to go back until she found herself again.

'No,' she replied firmly, looking Salazar in the eye despite her mind telling her to flinch away. 'Not yet.'

'You want to stay here?' Salazar asked, incredulously. His mouth opened in a little "o", and he seemed at a loss for words for the first time since Molly had met him. He shut it, only to open it again, eyes growing wide.

'No,' Molly said, gritting her teeth. 'But I can't go back and pretend that this had never happened, while innocent people are being used for _parts_ , for _parchment_ , as if their lives were worth less than that stick of wood you hold in your hand.'

'Actually–' Salazar started, but Molly cut him off.

'No. Not _actually_. No excuses. Frankly, you disgust me for having let this go on for as long as it had, and it's time for this to stop. And that's precisely what I'm going to do, with or without your help.'

With that, Molly turned on her heel and marched back through the undergrowth.

'Wait!' Salazar cried, by the sounds of it leaping to his feet and crossing the clearing in three bounds. 'You'll never succeed!'

'And why is that? Because I don't have magic?' Molly replied heatedly, crossing her arms across her chest as he came to stand before her.

'Because of the cats,' Salazar replied. 'They have a power over Squibs, they always have. I've studied them for centuries, but still not found out how, or why. All I know is that they make you docile, complacent. You'll do whatever a wizard tells you to do with the little critters hanging around.'

A pair of amber eyes swam before Molly's eyes.

' _Minx_ ,' she whispered, faltering slightly. She felt sick, violated in a way she hadn't known possible. She reached to her plait to retie her hair – something that had always made her feel better, more _organised_ , and realised just how long it had become.

'How long have I been here?' she asked, her voice breaking.

There was a pause.

'Three years, if memory serves,' Salazar replied, and there was a hint of sorrow in his voice that Molly hadn't thought him capable of. 'I saw you come through – the Dark Lady who runs this place was excited about having the first Weasley since she joined the factory.'

Molly closed her eyes. _Three years. Not three months._ Who was she kidding? She was just a Squib, just another normal person easily distracted and easily manipulated. If she tried to take down the factory, she'd fail before she even reached the front door.

A hand touched her elbow, brushing her skin through the holes of her cardigan softly, hesitantly, as if unused to the contact. She opened her eyes, to find her gaze captured by intense brown eyes staring back at her.

'Don't give up now,' Salazar said, hand still raised, barely grazing her. 'I know a spell that can protect you from the cats' influence. We'll succeed if we do this together.'

'Why are you helping me?' Molly asked, frowning even as she stepped closer. 'You've had years to stop this, why change now?'

Salazar's lips pulled into his crooked smile, but it wasn't the smirk Molly had grown used to. His eyes took on a faraway look, his mouth crumpling in a cross between guilt and pain that Molly had seen on her sister's face all too many times when she had performed accidental magic.

'Because you remind me of a friend I once had, long ago,' he said eventually, dropping his hand. Molly's arm still felt warm from the contact. 'And he would have wanted me to change the way this world works, just as you do.'


End file.
